Sway
by Nikki Von Dratch
Summary: "In this world, it's much easier to make her bend and sway to your will." Regina/Maleficent. Femslash. Don't like it, don't read.


"_Hello, Mally."_

The sound of her voice startles you, just enough to make you jump slightly and spin around, nearly dropping the bottle of wine in your hand. She's standing in the doorway to the back room of the bar (_your _bar, which is empty and quiet except for the jukebox still playing softly in the other room) wearing that trademark smirk of hers and already undressing you with her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, because you know that she only uses the nickname when she wants something. Usually something big.

She leans her hip against the frame of the door and shrugs. "Oh, just passing through," she answers coolly.

The words are vague, but you understand the meaning behind them. It's quite clearly spelled out in dark eyes that are already hooded with lust, as they so often are when she does decide to grace you with her presence. So it's one of those visits.

You set down the bottle of wine you're still holding and stand up a little straighter, fully prepared to send the mayor on her way. You're in no mood for this tonight, and you know that even if you were, it's still a bad idea and saying no is the right thing to do.

"Not tonight, honey," you tell her, a smirk of your own playing at your lips. You have every intention of letting her down gently, but you're going to have at least a little fun in the process. "I'm busy."

Regina's mouth turns down into a frown instantly, and in that moment she looks more like an upset, pouting child than the distinguished town official that she is. It's quite hilarious that just a few words can have that effect on her, and you have to bite back the urge to actually let out a chuckle. You settle instead for letting your smile grow a little wider, but it falters when the look on her face changes to something darker and much more predatory.

"Too busy for this?" she asks, slowly pulling open her long dark coat, and your jaw nearly comes unhinged when you realize that she's not wearing anything underneath it, save for her stockings and garters.

You lick your lips subconsciously and try to put your brain back to rights as she pushes off the door frame and saunters over to you, still holding her coat open just enough for you to examine the goods. When she's standing in front of you, so close that you can hear her breathing and smell her, warm like apple cider with just a hint of something more mysterious, your mind goes all sorts of weak and your body reacts like the traitor that it is.

You instinctively lean closer to her, and she smiles, victorious.

"It's been too long, Mally," she says, hands leaving the sides of her coat and reaching out toward you, fingertips brushing over your ink-stained shoulders. She's always had a fondness for body art, and yours is no different, especially since she knows the true meaning behind it, knows the reasoning for every line and curve and splash of color.

You shiver at the thought of how many times she's traced those very lines and curves with just the tip of her tongue, and of course she notices. You curse yourself internally for how easily your defenses drop in her presence.

She takes another step forward, edging one foot between your own, and then she leans in, until her lips hover just in front of yours. She purses her lips and blows gently, and your eyes automatically fall shut at the sensation of her warm breath ghosting across your lips. She kisses you then, with your eyes still closed, before you have time to react and stop her. She presses her mouth against yours, tilting her head just a little to get a better angle on the kiss, and when she pulls away, you're loathe to admit that you're breathless. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest. Your hands are itching to reach out and touch her.

Before you know it, you've pounced, lunging forward and dragging her body closer, flush against your own. She lets out a muffled yelp of surprise and you grin wickedly against her mouth. Who's the victor now?

You back her against the nearest hard surface, which just happens to be an old pool table, and hoist her up onto it, delighting in the way she gasps and jerks against you. She hadn't been expecting that either, and that in itself it utterly satisfying—the fact that you can still take her off-guard and unawares. It makes nights like these ridiculously more fun and exciting, even if you are always the first to give in.

In this world, it's much easier to make her bend and sway to your will. To make her body do things that she hadn't thought or wanted to admit it capable of. You spend hours showing her just what this exquisite vessel of hers can do, this shell that was made for a queen but is currently being inhabited by nothing more than the trembling mess of a woman beneath your fingertips.

In the end, you're still pretty sure that this wasn't a good idea, but you're willing to let her chase away those thoughts, to let her test her theory that you're still as susceptible to her demands in this world as you were in the last.


End file.
